The voices died away, and the footsteps echoed from two directions.
Horrified, almost paralyzed with terror, Bissula slipped down from the tree. On reaching the ground she staggered, clinging to the trunk for support, and for a moment wondered whether she had not fallen asleep and dreamed. She could not realize, could not believe that such a deed was possible. His own nephew--that kind-hearted man!
And yet it was true. Haste was necessary. The hour for the meal had already come, and Ausonius always began by drinking from the Emperor's goblet, with the three beautiful female figures, to the health of the Emperor Gratianus.
Those two men had the start, too, and it was a considerable distance from this extreme northwestern corner of the camp to the Prætorium in the south. Turning, she ran as swiftly as she could, but had only reached the corner of the nearest street of tents when she shrieked aloud in terror. An iron hand grasped her arm.
"Help!" she screamed despairingly. "Help! Help for Ausonius!"
"Why are you shrieking like a dying leveret, little one?" replied a deep voice. "Where are you going so fast?"
"Let me go, whoever you may be! The Prefect's life is in danger! Who are you?"
"I am Rignomer. I followed you unnoticed till you climbed the tree. You wouldn't have seen me now, if you hadn't dashed away as though you were driven by the elves. Where are you going?"
"To the Prefect! They want to murder him!"
"Oh, nonsense, what are you talking about? Who?"